A Good Roast
by LadyChakotay
Summary: Our beloved Voyager crew plays a drinking game on the holodeck.


Rating: PG-13 for a tiny bit of bad language.

Summary: Another pointless little ditty that swirled around in my mind and wouldn't leave me alone until I set it free on paper. Our beloved _Voyager _crew plays a drinking game on the holodeck. Takes place somewhere in season 5.

Authors Note: Before you email me and say that these characters wouldn't behave this way … well, except for Paris … let me just say that I know that already. This is for sheer entertainment and has no literary value whatsoever.

**A Good Roast**

"I will not comply."

B'Elanna rolled her eyes. "Oh lighten up, Seven. It's just a game."

Seven scanned the holographic representation of the Earth tavern known as _Sandrine's _briefly and then focused her cool gaze on Torres. "It is a juvenile activity and a misuse of our time."

Janeway chuckled as she swirled the chardonnay around in her wine glass. "On the contrary, Seven. It's good for morale to take a break every now and again. Sometimes people just need to shed the uniform and let their hair down."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "I fail to see how removing my clothing and hair accessories would improve the crew's morale."

"Trust me, it would do wonders," chuckled Paris. "Well, for the male portion of the crew at least." Then he stifled a grunt of pain as B'Elanna kicked him under the table.

The EMH put a gentle hand on Seven's shoulder. "What the captain's trying to say is that sometimes it's beneficial for crewmates to get together socially and have some fun."

"Thank you for interpreting, Doctor," Janeway said dryly.

"My pleasure, Captain."

"I do not require recreational activities, and certainly not games as pointless as this one."

"Sure you do," said Chakotay. "You may not want to admit it, Seven, but you're just as human as the rest of us."

"I wouldn't go that far," muttered Torres. This time she was the one to receive a swift kick under the table. She wasn't sure if it was Tom or the captain doing the kicking, but judging from the glare coming her way, her bet was on Janeway.

Harry stood and pulled out the chair next to his. With a slight gentlemanly bow he said, "Have a seat, Seven. I'll get you a drink."

B'Elanna snorted sarcastically. "Now there's a surprise. Give it up, Harry. It's never gonna happen."

Harry moved toward the bar but shot a quick glance at Torres over his shoulder as he went. "I think Klingon Bloodwine makes you mean, Maquis."

"You're assumption is incorrect, Ensign Kim," came the clipped tones of Tuvok, "I believe that simply breathing makes the lieutenant mean."

"Yes," the EMH nodded. "With Lieutenant Torres, mean is a relative term."

Neelix's infectious laughter rang throughout the holographic tavern. Between chortles and sips of Saurian brandy, he managed to say, "Yeah! Most of the time, I don't know whether to serve her a plate, or just toss a live animal in a locked room with her and let nature take its course."

"Yeah?" said B'Elanna. "Well with your cooking, Neelix, I'd be safer taking my chances with the live animal."

Janeway, who was innocently downing her fourth glass of chardonnay, had the misfortune of being in the process of swallowing when the overwhelming urge to burst out laughing overcame her. As a result the wine shot from both her nose and mouth, completely showering an unsuspecting Commander Chakotay, who, unfortunately, occupied the seat next to her.

The captain's face flushed red, though whether it was from embarrassment or the blush of intoxication no one dared say. "Oh God," she chuckled. "Chakotay, I'm so sorry."

"It's alright, Kathryn," he said, wiping the droplets from his eyes. "Your turn is coming soon."

Seven leaned in close to Harry as he returned with her drink. "I don't understand, Ensign Kim. Why are they being so unkind to Lieutenant Torres? And what does the commander mean about the captain's turn coming soon?"

Harry sighed inwardly. Why was he always the one stuck with trying to explain the unexplainable to her? "It's a game, Seven. It's called a Roast."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "I do not understand."

"Of course you don't," muttered Kim. "It's an old drinking game. You take turns picking on a person unmercifully. Since you're drinking in the process, it eventually becomes funny."

"Hilarious," she deadpanned. "I assume it's Terran in origin, judging by the sheer ridiculousness of it."

"You bet it is!" Tom grinned, obviously full of pride for a game where he could both get drunk and insult those he loved, regardless of the fact that an ex-drone found it ridiculous.

"How proud you must be," she said dryly.

"Oh, you're just being a party pooper because you can't be superior for once," said Paris. "Just watch, Frosty the Ice Queen, and I'll show you how it's done."

Harry's dark eyebrows rose. "Good one."

Ignoring Seven's melt-a-warp-core-glare, Paris downed the rest of his beer and then gazed around the room surveying the crowd and choosing his first victim. Finally, his gaze settled on his beloved resident Klingon.

"Shit," Torres muttered under her breath.

"You, my darling, are not only more terrifying than a rabid, starving targ, but you also smell like one after pulling a double shift with your precious engines."

Laughter erupted from around the table. Well, except for the seat occupied by the pungent targ in question.

"Why the hell is everyone picking on me?" shouted B'Elanna with a mixture of amused intoxication and Klingon fury. "There are eight other people in this room in case you hadn't noticed. And if I were you, flyboy, I'd sleep with a sharp bat'leth and one eye open tonight."

Tuvok shot Torres a reproachful glower. "As Chief of Security, I would not recommend threatening a fellow crewman, especially in my presence. Besides, I happen to agree with Lieutenant Paris … Ms. Turtlehead."

Without even having to glance in B'Elanna's direction Janeway anticipated her next move. With a grip as fast and unrelenting as any on her best day the captain seized B'Elanna by the back of her uniform and shoved her back into her chair before she could pounce on Tuvok and chew his pointed ears off.

Completely ignoring the ensuing chaos Tom's focus shifted to his buddy Harry. Seeing the attack coming his way, Kim shifted nervously in his chair and quickly chugged the rest of his mai tai.

Paris beamed at his pal's obvious discomfort. "And then there's good ol' Harry."

"Ah, hell," Kim half whispered.

"Harry I-Always-Fall-For-The-Wrong-Woman Kim. He couldn't even get a holographic woman to roll in the hay with him." Harry groaned and clasped his hands over his heart in a dramatic performance worthy of an Emmy, but it didn't prompt Paris into cutting him any slack whatsoever. "Maybe if he could stop ogling the captain like some love struck sixth grader with a crush on his teacher, he could actually land himself a girlfriend."

Janeway's face turned that charming shade of crimson again as all eyes fell on her. "Oh, God…"

With an impish grin, Tom then turned his attention to her. "And then there's our fair captain here."

"Watch yourself, Mr. Paris," she warned.

Chakotay laughed aloud. "It's just a game, Kathryn. Remember? Let her have it, Paris."

"Sure thing, Big Guy. But enjoy it while you can because you're next." As Tom had expected, that comment shut Chakotay up. His blue eyes met those of his captain, hers seeming to beg for any modicum of mercy.

"Captain Kathryn Janeway, known in the Alpha Quadrant as Starfleet's golden girl. Better known here in the Delta Quadrant as the Terror of the Spaceways. Take away her morning coffee, and even the Borg Queen will run screaming. That is, if she could get away before we blasted her into microfragments. You do love blowing things up, Captain."

Before she could verbally thrash Paris for being so audacious he shot her a charming smile. "But I gotta say she looks good doing it! If I have to follow a captain into the Depths of Hell, at least I have one whose voice can get my blood pumping faster than a Red Alert!"

Paris was enjoying the mixture of flattery and mortification washing over Janeway's face so much that he didn't even see B'Elanna's fist until it slammed into the side of his head like a shuttle at Warp 9. "See, I told you she was terrifying!" That was all Tom managed to say before the dancing star show inside his skull washed away any other thoughts.

Seven rose to her feet. "As tempting as this … game is, I have items of importance to attend to in Astrometrics. If you'll excuse me."

Janeway's voice stopped her before she took more than two steps. "Where do you think you're going? You haven't taken a turn yet, Seven."

"This is pointless, Captain."

Janeway glanced down at the dazed look in Tom's crossed eyes and with a grin said, "Oh, I don't know about that. I'm finding it quite useful."

"Yes," added Neelix. "Don't they say that laughter is the best medicine, Doctor?"

"As a matter of fact, they do, Mr. Neelix."

"See, Seven?" said Chakotay. "Sometimes you just have to bow to the absurd."

She nodded slightly. "This activity certainly meets that description."

"Good, then go ahead and take your turn," said the Doctor. "Go on, Seven, no need to be shy. We all have a sense of humor," he shot a quick glance at Torres, "some more brutal others, I'll admit. But we're all friends here."

"The logical course of action would be to capitulate," said Tuvok.

"I have no desire to insult or belittle my colleagues under the guise of an idiotic game. Your comments are full of clichés and annoying analogies that sound like prose from a bad novel. However, since you are obviously not going to allow me return to my duties until I have satisfied your juvenile desires I will comply. You may, however, regret your request when I am finished."

"Think so?" said Torres, a hint of challenge in her voice. "Take your best shot, Your Highness."

"Very well." Resigning herself to the inevitable, Seven clasped her hands behind her back and with a slightly defiant lift of her chin, she began:

"Doctor, you have the bedside manner of a black hole, and your one man operettas and arias sound like someone is strangling a Talaxian puss hog.

"Mr. Neelix, what you ineptly describe as cooking tastes like the afore mentioned puss hog soaked for days in the used bathwater of an entire Kazon tribe.

"Mr. Kim, one can only hope that your performance at Ops is markedly better than your clarinet playing, which sounds disturbingly like a member of Species 8472 caught in a tornado.

"Commander Tuvok, you are anal-retentive and have the personality of a desert dried fossil. Your constant need to state the blatantly obvious is enough to make one consider blasting oneself out an airlock, as the vacuum of space may provide more warmth.

"Lieutenant Torres, you resist your Klingon heritage, yet you could not be more Klingon unless you grew hair out of your navel and tore the beating heart from Mr. Paris' chest and fed it to him for evening meal. You question why your people are fearful of you, yet you are as welcoming as a Hirogen hunting party.

"Commander Chakotay, your affections for Captain Janeway are as obvious as a supernova yet you persist in denying them to anyone who will listen. Unfortunately for you, it appears the captain is as likely to mate with you as you are to land a shuttlecraft in one piece.

"Captain Janeway, if you could you would trade this entire ship for a good cup of coffee and a lusty Klingon romance novel. You're affections for the commander are likewise obvious but your self-important view has you convinced that any association with him beyond friendship would cause the imminent destruction of the entire universe."

That being said, Seven spun smartly on her heel and headed for the exit. As the rest of the crew sat in stunned silence, mouths hanging open, Paris lifted his head off the table and slurred, "I guess she told you guys!"

At his words Seven of Nine froze for a moment and then turned around slowly to fix her cool gaze on him. "And you, Mr. Paris, see yourself as the Playboy of the Delta Quadrant when in reality you are nothing more than a large child prancing around in a man's body."

Tom ignored the roar of laughter from his crewmates. "Now wait a minute! I NEVER prance."

Continuing as if he'd never spoken, Seven said, "There may, in fact, be one small advantage to participating in this inane activity. There is something I've wanted to say to you for some time, Lieutenant. I desire you to consume defecation and expound vigorously upon the lunar surface."

Without another word Seven left the holodeck without as much as a backward glance at the stunned faces of her crewmates.

Paris grinned stupidly. "Did you hear that, Harry? She said she desires me."

"No, Mr. Paris," said Janeway, failing to suppress an amused smile. "I believe she just told you to eat shit and bark at the moon."


End file.
